


Voided Warranty

by bunniewabbit



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Lotrips - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-02
Updated: 2006-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-18 07:53:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunniewabbit/pseuds/bunniewabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dom has always been hard on his toys. An alternate universe fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voided Warranty

 

Billy had warned him, hadn't he, that he shouldn't play with it until Billy got back and had a chance to fix it.

“It's getting worse, Dom. Best to not mess about with it until I have a look at it.”

Dom hadn't really paid attention, of course. Thought it was just some misplaced jealousy over how much time Dom spent playing with it. But, Billy had bought it for him, after all.

At first, they had both played with it, taking turns, or even sharing it at the same time, though that never seemed as effective or satisfying as playing with it alone. Billy eventually grew a little bored with it, as one does with toys, but Dom, strangely, seemed as happy to play with it as ever. “Obsessed” was the word that Billy favored in referring to Dom's “unhealthy interest” in it, but Dom would just roll his eyes or distract Billy by pinning him to the sofa cushions until they were both flushed and gasping and sliding against each other's sweat. Then, Dom would make sure that there was nothing in Billy's head except for Dom, and only Dom; not worries about “that toy” or whether “that toy” was in Dom's head.

Sometimes, Billy would watch Dom as he played. Dom rather liked that – the showoff in him, he supposed – but as time wore on, Billy seemed to be merely feigning interest, and Dom tried not to notice the way Billy's lips thinned into a line when Dom stopped interacting with him to concentrate on what he was doing. And he hated the way that Billy would sometimes interrupt, telling him that it “really wasn't designed to do that” and that if he kept it up he would break it. Again.

Dom also hated it when Billy was right.

Dom was notoriously hard on his toys. Always had been. He'd got used to things breaking, sometimes fixable, sometimes not. In the case of “not,” he'd toss it in the bin and buy another, newer, better one. He didn't want to admit (to Billy or himself) that somehow, this one was different. He didn't want a new one, he wanted _this_ one. “It was a gift from _you_ ,” he would tell Billy, and Billy would give a resigned sigh and cart it off to the garage to repair it.

And Billy always came through, too. Nothing Dom had done to it so far had broken it beyond repair. “Good as new,” Billy would say with weary smile, but in truth, it was a bit worn in places – both the smile and the toy.

So, really, Dom hadn't taken Billy's warning seriously. Billy could fix anything, right? Dom had learned to ignore the little whir- _click_ it made that had once driven him to distraction, and then forced himself to ignore when it turned into a disconcerting grinding noise. Billy would be home soon. He would fix it.

Now, Dom sat on the sofa with his knees drawn up to his chest, worrying at a shred of nail as he stared at the thing in the corner where he had propped it. The head was tilted back, the eyes so wide that there was white all around the too-blue-to-be-real irises, the mouth hanging open like it had frozen in the middle of a gasp – and Dom had tried, really fucking tried to get it closed again, a bit rattled at the expression that looked for all the world like one of shocked horror, and Dom _really_ had wanted to be rid of that before Billy got home.

He just hadn't wanted to stop, hadn't been _able_ to stop himself, really, still thrusting into it even when the usually-realistic movements of the body parts took on a jerky, mechanical quality and then suddenly stopped moving all together with a metallic _clunk._

It had never done that, before.

And now, there it sprawled, limbs all at awkward angles, that _look_ on its face, and the leaden feeling in Dom's stomach told him that this time, there would be no trip to the garage. He hadn't just broken it – he had _killed_ it.

His pressed the heels of his palms into hot eyes and concentrated on evening out the breathing which had grown ragged at the thought that he would never be able to play with Elijah again. Billy had been amused when he picked that name, surprised that he would choose something Biblical. And he had humored Dom for a long time by calling it by name, but lately, it was just “your toy” or “that thing.” And now, Dom would never again see Elijah's slow smile, feel the soft give of the synth-flesh under his hands, hear the seemingly infinite combinations of soft sounds that he – or, rather, _it_ – was programmed to make.

He pressed harder, trying to force the images into the dark, swirling mass behind his eyelids. Hearing a key slide into the lock, Dom went still and waited for Billy's reaction. What he really, desperately wanted was for Billy to be pissed off at him for breaking Elijah, but he knew beyond hope that what he was going to hear in Billy's voice was relief.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  



End file.
